


Into Thy Hands I Give Myself

by Nuinzilien



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, hurt/ comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuinzilien/pseuds/Nuinzilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo is tired of waiting.  Sadly, he'll have to wait just a bit longer</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Thy Hands I Give Myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seashadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/gifts).



It was Bilbo’s favorite time of the day. The last bells of the day were ringing and the streets of Erebor rolled up, merchant, miner and craftsman alike heading home to spend the evening meal among family and friends. (It had been a tough sell so far, even amongst his own friends, but Bilbo was still lobbying for another evening meal later on. After all, how was a body expected to get a good night’s sleep when you had to go ten hours or more between meals? Utterly preposterous!)

He placed the last heavily laden platter on the table as the evening bells resounded through the mountain, heralding the onset of darkness. Bilbo had been more than a little confused when he’d returned from his final trip to the Shire and the bells had started ringing. The only time you ever heard bells in the Shire was when the weather turned violent. Here they used them to mark the passage of time, since being underground made day and night relative.

Rubbing the back of his neck and rolling his shoulders, Bilbo checked his table over once more. The soups were nice and piping hot in their tureens, the salads (which he knew damned well would go mostly uneaten except for by Bifur and a few of Bombur’s more adventurous children) were waiting in the chill box. There were fruits and cheeses and roasted vegetables for nibbles and a hearty beef roast waiting in the oven. Everything was perfectly set for the loud, joyful mob that had become his extended family.

A knock had him scurrying for the door. “I told you, you don’t need to KNOCK!” He pulled the door open, revealing a cheekily grinning Kili. “Get in here, twit.”

“Bossy Uncle Bilbo.” Kili swept past him and into the apartment. “It smells good in here. Were you cooking something?”

“You know very well I was. Why else would you be here?”

The young dwarf held up a wrapped package. “Mum said this arrived for you in the latest deliveries from Dale.”

Bilbo snatched it from him with a look of glee. “Brilliant!” He rushed to his kitchen, ripping the cloth wrapping away to reveal his prize.

Kili frowned, puzzled at Bilbo’s excitement over what looked to be a slab of blue quartz. He hoped their poor Hobbit hadn’t paid through the nose for something he could easily have gotten in Erebor (and probably for little to no charge). “What is it?”

“THIS, my lad, is blue salt. It is sweeter than black or white salt, and you can only get it from a specific tribe of Haradhrim. Now, whether they mine it themselves or source it from your kin to the east, I haven’t the foggiest. But it really is quite hard to find.”

“Expensive too, I’d imagine,” said Fili, who had come in through the open door. 

“It is at that,” Bilbo said, chuckling. “But thanks to our very successfully lucrative quest, I have more gold than I’ll ever know what to do with. A bag of coins was fair price for one slab of blue salt, much less a matched pair.”

“So you wanted them in big blocks like this? How is it going to work? Would you just chisel off a bit as you need?” Kili asked.

Bilbo finished his careful examination of the two blocks, then wrapped them back in their cloth, tucking them away in a cabinet. “I suppose I could, but it would be a shame to mar them like that. No, I’m going to use them to cook and serve supper for your uncle, after which I am going to ask if I can court him properly, as a Hobbit would.”

At their boggled looks, Bilbo sighed. “If I wait for Thorin to do it, I’ll be eleventy-one before it happens, and I’d like to have more than a decade as a married hobbit.” His eyes narrowed. “And you two will keep your mouths SHUT, do you understand me?”

Both princes held up their hands and swore on the souls of their forefathers that not a word would pass their lips. It seemed odd to imagine Uncle Thorin NOT being the one in pursuit of his desire, but perhaps this was how it was done in the Shire. Hobbits WERE strange creatures, after all.

“Very good, then.” Bilbo said with a nod. “Now off you get to wash up. The rest should be here any moment.”

As they headed for the washing room, a mighty sneeze exploded through the apartment. “Some of the dust from those salt blocks must have got up his nose,” Kili suggested. Fili nodded sagely. "Must have."

~~~@^^^^^^@~~~

Throughout the fantastic meal (of course it was fantastic, it was one of BILBO’S meals), Thorin kept closer and closer eye on the hobbit beside him. Though Bilbo was as smiling and sociable as ever, something was clearly off. He flinched at particularly loud noises, and as the evening grew later, he had begun to squint, leaving tiny, adorable furrows on his brow.

The dwarf king leaned in close. “Are you unwell, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo turned toward him, blinking his eyes a few times to bring him in to focus. “Hmm?” The hobbit reached back to rub at his neck. “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Bit of a headache is all. Probably from running back and forth to the kitchen or the mead disagreeing with me. Nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix in no time.” He smiled, idly wondering if he could talk one of the chamber attendants into sneaking him a bar of the king’s preferred soap. He really did smell quite nice….

Thorin hummed as Bilbo’s eyes grew unfocused again. He supposed it COULD be the mead, but honestly, his burglar hadn’t imbibed THAT much. Certainly not enough to leave him inebriated (and having seen just how much his hobbit could put away during his coronation celebration, he was quite convinced those large feet were hollow!)

Against his better judgement, the king let the matter drop. Bilbo would tell him if there was something truly wrong. Though if he happened to decide that NOW was the best time to have a very exceedingly important meeting regarding new trade agreements with Mirkwood that simply could not wait until morning and involved more than half the gathered dwarves, much to their puzzlement… well, that was his business. And who were they to argue? He WAS King, after all. 

~~~@^^^^^^@~~~

Much later that night, when the very exceedingly important meeting had adjourned, Thorin made his way back to Bilbo’s apartment. Though it was late, he doubted his hobbit would be asleep yet. If anything he would be curled in his chair, reading the latest book Ori had translated for him. And hadn’t THAT been an exhausting battle with the Council. Though his Company had been at his back, it had still taken weeks of shouting matches, table pounding, and finally his word that he would be making the Hobbit his Consort come Durin’s Day anyway, so surely it made SENSE to have the hobbit learn their tongue before they finally agreed.

He paused outside Bilbo’s door and lifted his hand to knock, when the sounds of retching reached his ears. All thoughts of invitations for an early morning ride to Dale’s marketplace fled his mind as he shoved the door open. “Bilbo?”

The heaving continued.

Truly worried now, Thorin followed the sounds, finding Bilbo on his hands and knees in the dimly lit hallway, head pressed against the stone wall. The dwarf king stepped over the messy remains of dinner and knelt beside his hobbit. He leaned in and sniffed Bilbo’s breath. He doubted anyone would truly want to harm his burglar, but being in a position of power always carried its risks, and laced food and drink had taken out more than one leader, especially among less hardy races… “Bilbo? Bilbo, can you hear me?”

Thorin took the poor hobbit’s wince as sign that he did indeed hear him. “Bilbo, try to think back for a moment. What did you eat? What did you drink? Did anything taste or smell off to you?”

Bilbo groaned, his stomach jumping. “Ssstop yellin’ a me, Thrrnn,” he slurred.

The dwarf blinked. As far as he could remember, he’d been talking rather softly. Maybe his hobbit HAD overindulged and was now paying the piper his due. “Is this better?” he whispered.

“Yuh,” Bilbo panted, arms trembling faintly in exertion. He looked ready to collapse into the puddle of sick.

Thorin couldn’t have that. He hooked his arm around Bilbo’s torso and pulled him upright, freezing when the hobbit in his arms squeaked in distress and vomited over both of them.

Bilbo whimpered. “M’head. Issfallin’apart help...”

The king cupped his palm around Bilbo’s forehead, squeezing gently. “Does this help?” he whispered. The hobbit’s nod was cautious. “Bilbo, I cannot carry you like this. If I hold your head, can you walk? Lean against me if you must, but can you walk?”

“Uh-huh. Jus' don’ yell.”

“I will try, my Bilbo. I did not realize I yell so much.” He got the hobbit to his shaky feet and helped him to shuffle down the hall toward his bedroom, hands cupping his head front and back. Once there, he guided Bilbo to lean against the wall while he replaced the soiled bedding with clean sheets and hunted down a fresh night shirt.

Thorin did his best not to feel like forge slag when his attempts to put the clean shirt on drew agonized whimpers from his hobbit. “I know, Bilbo, I know. We are almost finished now.” He carefully tugged the nightshirt down to Bilbo’s knees, then cupped his skull again. “See? The hard part is over. Now to bed with you, Master Burglar.”

Once Bilbo was settled back in his bed, Thorin stroked his curls softly. “Were you feeling this way at supper?”

Bilbo sighed, his eyes drifting shut. “Bit. Stiff neck mostly, an’ then ev’rythin’ was jus’ too much of it.”

“I can try rubbing your shoulder and neck if you think that would help?” 

Bilbo’s smile turned into a grimace. “Loud. Maybe later. It’s easing for now. Not pulsing so hard.”

“Good.” The dwarf lord continued to stroke his hair. “Have you always hand these fits?”

His adorably button nose wrinkled. “Not a fit. ‘M not some prissy Sackville-Baggins. An’ I had ‘em since Goblin – “ He yawned. “Goblin Caves. ‘Bout 5 times.”

“Is this why you were ill in Lake Town?”

“An’ a cold. Not fun. Brain exploded ev’ry time I had to cough, an’ if I didn’t cough, I choked.”

Thorin sighed. “I had no idea you were so ill then, my treasure. I see now why Oin pushed for more time to rest.”

“Mmm.” The hobbit’s eyes were closed now, his breathing slow and steady.

“Will you be alright here while I send for a healer?”

“M’fine.” Bilbo sounded exhausted and anything BUT fine. The sooner a healer got here, the better. Thorin left the room as quietly as he could (and how did he never notice just how LOUD his boots were? Nothing at all like the near silent ‘pat pat’ of Bilbo’s tread.), heading quickly for the healing wing. “Oin.” At the old dwarf’s lack of response, Thorin sighed and raised his voice. “OIN!”

The healer turned with a grumble. “No reason to shout. What brings you, Highness?”

Thorin quickly described Bilbo’s situation. Oin sighed. “Again?” He tsked. “Well, that took longer this time.”

Thorin crossed his arms. “Explain.”

“I really shouldn’t, but you are his King.” He started mixing herbs as he talked. “If you ask me, the problem is with that blasted magic ring he picked up in the goblin tunnels. It’s just not natural for a body to turn invisible by putting on a ring. He said that the world looks and sounds warped. Muffled. After the second of these attacks of his, I started keeping track. There is a definite link between when Master Baggins wears his ring, and when he has one of these episodes. The more often he wears it, the longer between, but the longer he wears it each time, the worse the attack is when it comes.”

“Lake Town.”

“Aye, that one was brutal, and compounded by a chest cold. He spent nearly the entirety of our stay in Mirkwood wearing that ring. It is a wonder he managed it. This one is odd, though. If it IS actually one of those fits, it is way overdue. Unless he has worn it since then, the last time he used his magic ring was during the Battle at the Gate.”

Thorin shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. What can be done for him? Anything?”

“I’m making him a strong sedative. It should help him sleep through the worst of the pain. Give it to him as long as he’s having the problem. Try to get water in him if you can, but I will be surprised if you do. He’ll barely be able to stomach this. I’m making enough for a week, but if it doesn’t ease after three days, come find me.” He gestured to a steaming cup on the table.

Thorin nodded and picked up the pouch of herbs, along with the hot drink, taking note of the rather generous splash of whiskey. “If the herbs don’t knock him out, the liquor will.”

The old healer huffed and shoo’d him. “Off with you. I’ve better things to do than take criticism from dense dwarrow.”

Thorin had barely reached the door when Oin called out to him. “Highness?”

The king turned, his expression clearly impatient.

“You’ll do things in your own time, of course. You always did. But if I were you, I’d figure out a way to separate our Burglar from that scrap of gold. Maybe replace it with a better prize. And a matching crown, even. That’s what I would do. If I were you.” He shrugged and turned away, dismissing him.

~~~@^^^^^^@~~~

Thorin gave much thought to Oin’s words as he watched Bilbo finally succumb to the sedative’s effect and started cleaning the hobbit’s rooms. If the magic ring Bilbo kept close like his own Arkenstone truly was foul and caused Bilbo such pain as Oin claimed, getting it away from his hobbit may not be such a bad idea. 

He would send word to Gandalf in the morning. He did not particularly care for the Wizard’s haphazard treatment of their quest or their hobbit. Perhaps he meant well, but he always had an agenda, and woe to the pawns who were caught in his game with the Enemy. However, if anyone would know what to do with Bilbo’s magic ring, it would be him.

~~~@^^^^^^@~~~

On the morning of the fourth day, Bilbo’s eyes cracked open, automatically squinting against the sunlight filtering through his small window. His head felt stuffed full of cotton, his body ached, and his mouth had the vilest taste to it. In short, he felt like he’d drunk the entire Company under the table. Consecutively.

He sat up and ran his hand through his hair, wincing at the greasy feel. He definitely needed a bath. And breakfast. The biggest breakfast he could make. And then Second Breakfast. And Elevenses. And Lunch and Afternoon Tea. He could eat them all right now, frankly. And still have room for one of Mistress Gerrid’s mince pies.

He looked around his room and blinked. Seated beside his bed in a chair tilted back against the wall, was a very scruffy, very YUMMY looking Thorin. The Dwarf King was down to his shirt sleeves and trousers, stockinged feet resting on a nearby chest. Foot coverings were still anathema to the hobbit, even after so long living amongst dwarves… but if this is what he got to wake up to, he would definitely be making dinner for the Company every night!

Bilbo slid to the end of the bed and stood, squawking and reaching for the bedpost as his legs went out from under him. Strong arms wrapped around his chest, guiding him back onto the bed. “Easy, Bilbo. No need to overtax yourself.”

He shivered at the husky brogue sleep had given the King’s wet dream-inspiring voice (and Bilbo should know, since that voice alone had featured in many a nighttime flogging session since they’d left the Shire.) “I was trying not to wake you.” Bilbo glanced around. “What time is it?”

Thorin glanced at the window. “Just past mid-day, I think.” He rubbed at his face, yawning.

“Mid-day??” Bilbo’s eyes were wide. “I thought you had a meeting this morning?”

The King’s smile was gentle. “That was nearly three days ago, my treasure.”

“Treasure. You’ve called me that before, I think.” He frowned. “Wait…THREE days? How can it have been three days since we had supper with the lads?”

“You were sick, Bilbo. Oin said it was an attack of some sort, like the one you suffered in Lake Town. He gave me something for you to take until the pain eased.”

The hobbit blinked, the last several days coming back to him in bits and pieces. He groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Please tell me I did not actually vomit on you.”

Thorin’s eyes twinkled. “That would be a lie, Master Burglar, and I do try to be honest with you.” 

Bilbo’s response was an embarrassed whine.

“How are you feeling? Still in pain?”

“Like I just drank every mug of ale at Old Took’s mid-summer’s eve celebration. And I could most definitely use a washing up and a chance to rinse my mouth. But otherwise I’m just ducky.”

Thorin snorted softly at the ‘ducky’. “I should leave you to your rest then and return to my rooms, now that the storm has passed.”

Bilbo eyed him, then seemed to come to a decision. “Well, you could certainly do that. Or, if I promise to behave myself, you could climb into this bed with me and we can try again later.”

Thorin’s answering smile shone brighter than the Arkenstone. “I could do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story went through many many incarnations, and even this one did not turn out quite as I had planned. What initially started as a migraine quickly became withdrawal. Given what the Ring did to Gollum and Bilbo, it clearly has addictive properties. Any addictive substance has a withdrawal when kept away for too long...
> 
> I hope the recipient enjoys what I did with their wonderful prompt!


End file.
